A Divine Spark
by NurfHurdur
Summary: Colonel Chamberlain reflects on the effects of war.
1. Chapter 1

Chamberlain knew who was at his tent before he'd voiced his permission of them to enter. He glanced up once at his younger sibling before returning to the letter he was writing, the family would read of Gettysburg in the papers, and he hoped the letter would reach them fast enough so as to ease their minds. In the letter he expressed that both the siblings were in fine health and had not come to any harm during the last engagement. Though, a voice in his head taunted him, playing with things he couldn't go back and change. The deeds had been done, and he'd live with the consequences for the rest of his life. A few of those things had turned out all right, much to his relief. On that note, his eyes traveled back to the Lieutenant, and he imagined the heart stopping moments on Round Top.

_He could very well be in a hospital because of you, or in a shallow grave._

He shook himself mentally, "Why don't you sit down Tom?" He knew the boy wouldn't do so unless instructed to, or invited.

There was something else the army had done. Only last year he was swatting the younger man's shoulder with a newspaper to get him away from his desk at Bowdoin. The memory made him smile slightly, gaze distant as he watched movement through the tent opening. He'd left the room, for what he couldn't remember for the life of him, but he'd returned to find a very cheeky and smug looking Thomas Chamberlain sitting behind his work space. Much to the delight of the students in the room.

He couldn't even remember why Tom had been there, maybe there hadn't been a reason. Maybe he'd just wanted to cause the older man grief. Chamberlain had never really asked. Though, he'd put up a front to the class, the serious teacher and role model he should be, the incident had amused him. None of the other siblings would dream of doing such. Yet there was Tom, happy as a little clam sitting there in a _professor's _chair.

That's when the deadly force of the newspaper came into play.

It was the youngest brother's youth and sense of adventure that had made the months easier for Chamberlain. He was afraid the events both of them lived through would rip that from Tom, that one day he'd look into blue eyes like his own and see nothing.

His conversation with Kilrain suddenly came back to him, if there was one thing he ever hoped to learn from the Irishman it would have to be from that conversation. His own words echoed in his mind.

_A divine spark, as my mother used to call it._

His head shot up to look at the Lieutenant, that's why he'd never really reprimanded Thomas for what he'd done in that class room. Why he kept him close, when he should be pushing him away. Tom's energy was an embodiment of that spark.

He stood quickly, which startled the younger man so that he stood as well. Grabbing his brother's shoulders roughly, Chamberlain turned in a way that light from the outside would fall onto the junior officer. Tom stood rigid, didn't understand what Chamberlain was doing at all, and only looked back at him with a slightly confused interest.

The Colonel studied him for a long moment, took in every detail. The Lieutenant was leaning away from him, stiff as a board. The uniform wasn't immaculate, but it was much more presentable than even some of the Generals Chamberlain had seen in the past seventy two hours. He was pale from lack of sleep, circles under his eyes contrasting heavily with his complexion. The kepi was still not on straight, he doubted it ever would be. Finally he gauged the boy's expression, tired, that was to be expected but he was looking for something else.

When looking into one's eyes, there is literally a spark of light staring back at you. The way an eye catches light shows you the essence behind. A single candle can reflect a thousand fold in live eyes, the spirit shining and lighting up the darkness around him, with a brilliance like no other. For others, the brightest of days can not ignite that ember, and while that person lives, they are dead, with no depth or meaning to that existence.

Chamberlain feared for that spark, he feared one day he would no longer see it. In himself, in Tom, in any of them. So he searched his brother's eyes, the younger man holding his gaze but still unsure of the Colonel's reasoning in all this.

He was about to say something when Chamberlain found what he was looking for. Though the Lieutenant was exhausted on most accounts, he'd snapped to attention when Chamberlain had felt the need to inspect him. Sunlight fell through the tent flaps, hitting the Colonel's tin cup, and then bouncing up into the young officer's countenance. Though he was no longer the cheeky troublemaker, Chamberlain could see it lying dormant. Tom took his job seriously, was most likely in shock over the last days events, but the Colonel could see it. He could see the impetuous youth, waiting for the Lieutenant to digest what had taken place there in Gettysburg. It would return, but not in such an inappropriate time. They were grieving, but Chamberlain took comfort in what he'd seen.

Before parting, he pulled the younger man towards him and embraced him tightly. Standing back once more he let his arms fall to his sides and smiled slightly at his brother's expression.

Tom raised a brow, "Lawrence, next time you go rhetorical college professor on me, let me know in advance."

_Ahh, there was that impetuous speech. _A teasing gleam showing through the solemn expression.

"Rhetorical college professor?"

Tom blinked a few times. "You get this look-" He gestured helplessly, "When you think about certain things."

"Like on the hill-" The Lieutenant looked up, that gleam receding slightly, which only added to Chamberlain's interest. It was like a new challenge, judge his brother's mood by gauging his eyes. He realized what Tom had said, the conversation taking a turn he wasn't sure he was ready to take.

"I didn't realize you were so perceptive Tom."

The Lieutenant met his gaze seriously, "I pay attention."

He raised a hand slowly, resting it on the younger man's shoulder. It was hard to think that Tom was no longer the eighteen year old that gave him a hard time on their hunting expeditions. They'd both seen things that would change their views of the world and fellow men forever.

As long as he saw that spark, he knew everything would be alright. He knew, though, that when the war ended, there wouldn't be a full return to what they'd been before. If nothing else, he hoped they did see this war to the end. He couldn't imagine any other outcome, and he'd watch, he'd continue to watch out for the younger man. He pushed back any taunting thoughts at that, he didn't feel like grappling with his own conscience at the moment. What's done is done, and he decided at that moment that for the rest of the war he'd be more careful. He only hoped in the heat of battle he would remember that vow.

Because he couldn't imagine seeing that spark die.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: I decided to add one more chapter because it was requested of me in such a nice way. I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

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Thomas Chamberlain had spent much of the day alone, he feared it was slowly driving him mad. He wasn't ready to really talk about what had just happened to them, but he needed another human presence. He needed something to tie him to the living world and push away the images that lingered in his mind's eye. He'd left his own quarters without a thought as to where he should go, but had found himself standing in front of the Colonel's tent. When did that happen? He glanced down the rows of tents, couldn't remember the ground he covered to get there. It worried him slightly. Maybe he was going mad.

He was called in before even announcing he was there, that didn't really surprise him. Lawrence always seemed to know what was going on, and if he didn't, well, he was very skilled at hiding it. Tom thought to himself.

He ducked into the canvas enclosure, met eyes once with the Colonel before the man returned to whatever he was working on. Tom watched him a moment with half lidded eyes, blinking a few times before straightening his position and clasping his hands behind his back. Their personal relationship was informal, but in the same breath, this was a superior officer's tent. The protocol of the military came first. He turned and looked out of their shelter, his back to his brother. When the older man's voice broke the silence of the tent, he was once again, not surprised. Every time he came to the tent it was the same thing.

Though this time, he hadn't been asked to sit down, he'd been told to. He'd heard it enough times in his life to recognize the tone his brother had just used. It was formed as a question, but there was an underlying, weary edge that left no room for arguments. Looking to either side of the tent, Tom hesitated, there was only a single wooden chair. One chair he'd only ever seen one person use.

Buster.

He cast a glance back at Chamberlain. Surely Lawrence didn't realize what he'd just told the Lieutenant to do? If Lawrence knew the only available place belonged to Buster, he wouldn't have suggested it then. Not after a single day of receiving the news of the Irishman's death. When the Colonel didn't look back at him he turned back towards the chair, swallowed heavily and did as he was told.

That's what soldiers did, when it was all said and done.

The younger Chamberlain sat stiffly, back rigid. He didn't like the thought of taking the deceased man's favorite spot. It made the horrible events of the previous days real, that there was never again going to be a witty smile in that chair when he entered the tent.

Tom closed his eyes, the last few horrifying days catching up with him. He was exhausted, yet couldn't get any rest. He'd stared at the ceiling of his tent for hours the night before, barely drifting into the darkness of sleep when the blare of a bugle had startled him back into the land of the living. Maybe the heat had something to do with that, he mused. He shook his head at that thought, that was only lying to yourself. He knew why he couldn't sleep, he just couldn't admit it to himself.

The wool uniform seemed to cling to him, as if it had shrunk recently. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the cramped and tight muscles, issued a silent sigh when his efforts failed. He'd been running on pure adrenaline for nigh on a week. In the excitement of battle, he'd been wound up to such an extent that he could only be compared to a tightly coiled spring. At any moment he'd felt like he could snap. The final battle had been hard, yes, but his mind dwelled more on the hill. The image of a gun leveled on him flashed behind his eyes and he shivered, turned his head slightly to face away from Chamberlain, who seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Movement from the edge of his vision caused him to spring up, he knew it was the Colonel, but in the back of his mind he was still on alert of any sign of the enemy. To jump into action at a moments notice and be ready to relay orders, watch his brother's back, and keep himself alive.

It was a gross understatement to say he was surprised when the Colonel grabbed him by the uniform and dragged him across the tent. He leaned away from the physical contact, not understanding what was going through the older man's head. His brows nearly met his hairline, the expression on the older man's face was oddly disconcerting. He glanced to the side, uncomfortable of being scrutinized. The Colonel's intense study of him made Tom uncomfortable.

The look in Chamberlain's eyes had scared him, the older man was the one the regiment looked to. He was stoic, able to think in times of crisis. He'd proven that. What Tom saw now was an emotion he had never expected to see. Reflecting in the eyes of the Colonel of the 20th Maine, was fear. What upset Tom more was that, that fear was directed towards him, it was during this odd inspection that the emotion had entered the man's eyes.

He forced his gaze back towards the older man, tried to form a question when he was once again caught off guard. He was suddenly pulled into a crushing embrace. Despite the pull in sore muscles, he returned the embrace ten fold and was reluctant to step back when Chamberlain released him. Studying the man's eyes a moment, he was relieved to see them clear of anxiety. Tom wasn't sure of the cause of it to begin with, but to see it was no longer present eased his mind somewhat.

He made some offhand comment so as to lighten the mood, but even to him his voice didn't quite have the same tone he used when teasing the older man. A single statement from his brother, though, caused him to stop short and look up.

"_I didn't realize you were so perceptive Tom."_

He was unused to praise. Yes, he'd been promoted a few times, but that was nothing special. The man before him was not one to congratulate small deeds. To receive a word of recognition from the Colonel was something to take pride in. Shrugging his shoulders slightly, he tried to brush it aside. Though, internally, there was an energy building again. Repairing itself, after the last days events had torn it away.

Unknown to either officer. The small discussion had started the healing process. Each had done or said something that significantly raised the spirits of the other. The war wasn't over. Neither man knew when it would end, but from now on they would both hold moments together more dear.

Because after the last three days, there was no knowing what moment would be your last.


End file.
